


A Minor Obsession

by Greysgate



Series: A Journey Through Night [1]
Category: The Pretender (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greysgate/pseuds/Greysgate
Summary: While working through a "sting," Jarod discovers someone like him, only female. Athena has a lot to teach him.





	A Minor Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written approximately three months after the series debut, immediately following the episode, "Not Even a Mouse." I had my own plans for Jarod, and didn't think the series was moving fast enough in the direction I wanted him to go. The creators waited until Valentine's Day, two months later, to broach the subject of Jarod's innocence (and they handled it very well). This was my take on the subject, and started a series of stories that carried through to the end of the mystery of Jarod's origins. The television series has gone a completely different direction than I did, but here and there we both got awfully close to the same idea.
> 
> Scary, isn't it?
> 
> Originally published in 1997 under the name Victoria Rivers

_Appendicitis, he was sure of it._

And that meant surgery. Unavoidably. Which meant that he would have to trust his life to a stranger who might or might not have hidden agendas, and might or might not do the job right, as he had discovered with the drunken Dr. Trader whom he had seen brought to justice. And there were always the possibilities of unexpected complications during the process, which could mean an untimely end to everything. Jarod Russell had agendas of his own to settle, and consequently took a great deal of time researching surgeons and hospitals in the city where he found himself ill, and placed his life in the hands of a distinguished young surgeon building a brilliant career. He checked himself in and gave the emergency room his diagnosis, then left it to them to confirm it in the slow, painstaking way that big city hospitals did things.

The wait almost killed him.

He awoke to a semi-dark room, groggily recognizing from the subdued lighting that it was time for the night shift. That made him uneasy, for it had been early morning, just after dawn when his surgery was scheduled and he should have awakened to bright day. He felt stiff and sore in a variety of places, and while he could attribute part of that to the after-effects of the anesthetics that had kept him unconscious during the procedure, a warning bell went off in his head that told him something else had happened, something unexpected. And his abdomen felt as if it was on fire.

"Holy Mary, Mother of Grace..." a soft voice intoned from beside the bed. He felt warm hands holding his right one lightly, the warmth comforting, the words of the prayer sinking into his heart. Someone was praying for him.

Jarod turned quickly to look at the woman and regretted it instantly. Needles of pain made him clamp his eyes shut, waiting till the discomfort passed before opening them again.

"I'm glad to see you're awake at last," said the woman, a nurse from the look of her starched white uniform and traditional cap. "We were beginning to think you weren't going to make it." She smiled warmly and stood over him. "How do you feel?"

"Thirsty," Jarod croaked, licking his lips with a sticky, dry tongue. "What happened?"

"Are you one of those macho guys who waits till the last minute, or do you just not have any pain sensors in your body?" the nurse asked teasingly. "Your appendix must have ruptured hours before you came in, Mr. Edison. I hear you were quite a mess to clean up once the doctors got in there. You've been out for two days now." She laid a cool hand on his brow as if to check his temperature, then let her fingers trail off his forehead and down his cheek.

"Welcome back." She crossed her arms and stood back a little. "Sorry, but you're NPO till the doc says you can have something to drink. I can check on getting you some ice chips and push to get an answer in a reasonable amount of time. How would that be?"

He tried to answer her, but his throat was so dry the words stuck and made him cough, which made the incision pull against his abdominal muscles. He winced and lay still in the bed. After a quick, skilled check of his vital signs, she left the room and returned ten minutes later to pour him a glass of water and help him sit up just enough to drink it.

"Thank you," Jarod sighed. Almost as an afterthought he read her name tag and checked her ring finger for a wedding band, but there was none. "Ms. Morgan, is it?"

"Call me Athena," she said with a smile. "Feeling better?"

"Could I have another drink?" he asked, smiling back. There was warmth in her face that he liked instantly, aside from the fact that she was beautiful, her skin glowing in the dim light that always burned in private rooms to allow night shift nurses to check on their patients without disturbing them. She had red hair, more auburn than his mother's, but long like hers, done up in a soft knot at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were avocado green, her features were fine and delicate, but it was the dimple in her chin that caught his attention and held it, and made him smile again.

"Sure thing," Athena responded. "Just take it slowly and don't overdo all at once here. You've had a rough couple of days."

"Is that why you were here?" he asked as she eased her arm beneath his shoulders to help lift him up. "To monitor my condition? I thought the nurses kept tabs on the machinery from the station down the hall."

Even in the dim light he could see the color seeping into her fair cheeks, darkening her skin significantly. She gave a whispery little laugh. "No, sir, Mr. Edison. You got special treatment. I can't stand to see critical patients without visitors, so I've been sitting with you during some of my free time. I just finished my shift an hour or so ago, so I'm all yours. Anything you want, or errands you need run, people to call, that sort of thing? I noticed on your chart there was no next of kin listed."

"No, no family," he said somberly. "Please call me Jarod."

"Yeah, me too," she returned. "My folks died when I was ten. I've been a little of everywhere since then."

Jarod glanced away. "Same here." He had just begun establishing his newest identity, accomplishing little more than renting a seedy apartment to get him through his mission and getting his telephone activated. When he recovered he would apply for a job at a certain recording studio and make sure there was an opening for him. Recovery time would allow him to learn how the soundboards worked and allow him to familiarize himself with Mia Sharp's music throughout the length of her 20 year career. But for now he would spend a little time resting and recovering from the surgery, and making new friends.

Athena took off her cap and put it on the chair beside the bed. "So what do you do, Jarod?" she asked quietly.

"A little of this, a little of that," he replied vaguely. "Right now I'm between jobs. I guess that's a good thing, considering I won't be able to work for a week or so anyway."

"Maybe two," Athena corrected. "You've got a pretty good infection going there. You'll probably be in here for at least a week, and then at home for another before you're able to get out and about. You look pretty fit, but I'd wait on the exercise for at least two weeks, maybe three depending on how the incision heals, and take it easy for another two. No iron man stuff, you know."

"We'll see," he returned with a lazy smile. "I've found that the body can far exceed its limitations when pressed." He really liked to see her smile. It made him feel warm all over. Positively cozy.

She touched his wrist, ostensibly checking the IV plugged into a vein in the back of his left hand. "I can see you're going to be a handful," she chuckled softly. "I'll sit on you, if I have to, to keep you in bed."

"I'll be a good boy while I'm here," he promised.

She squeezed his forearm, patted it and moved away. "It's after you leave that I'm worried about," she said with a wink. "Can I get you anything?"

"Got any Pez on you? I think I'm addicted."

She laughed brightly and went to sit in the bedside chair, moving her hat to her lap. "Nothing Per Oral, remember? That's what NPO stands for. Maybe tomorrow you can have some jello and broth. Won't that be tasty?"

"Does working in a hospital warp your sense of humor?" he asked bemusedly. The warmth went clear down to his toes, which had been cold a moment before. He felt something inside him dancing, which was incredibly unusual, especially since his body felt particularly leaden at the moment.

"We have to get an associate degree in torture before we graduate to RN, Jarod. I was top of my class."

"I like you, Athena," he pronounced, relaxing into his pillow. "I think I'll enjoy my stay in this fine establishment. Provided I don't get any bedpans dropped on my head or secondary infections along the way."

Athena's face softened, glowed in the pale light affixed to the wall on the far side of his bed. "You'll get the best care we can give, Jarod. I promise you that," she vowed. "I consider it my personal mission in life to look after the Onlies that come my way."

"Onlies?"

"Only ones left," she explained. "Loners. People without ties. They need more than those who get regular doses of familial affection. Sometimes it's just an ear to listen, or a shoulder to cry on. Sometimes it's knowing they aren't alone in a difficult time. I figure, maybe if I'm there for someone else, when my time comes, someone will be there for me." She took down her hair, letting it fall in a burnished rush of silk around her shoulders. "Right now it would probably be a good idea for you to get some rest. I'll stay here with you for a while if you want to talk, and later on I'll need to go home and get some sleep before my next shift. I've got class tomorrow night so I'll only be able to stay for a little while, but I promise to spend as much time as I can keeping you company. That is, if you want me to. I know some people prefer the quiet."

"I'd like that, Athena," Jarod told her honestly. "You're a very nice person."

She smiled and said nothing. He was tired already, a little drowsy, and moving hurt all over, so he decided to try for some sleep. After a few minutes he opened his eyes again and found his guest standing by the window, looking out at the night. She seemed to sense that he was watching her and turned toward him with a guarded expression.

"Do you want something for the pain?" she asked solicitously. "There's a 'scrip on record for you if you need it."

Jarod lifted his right hand from beneath the covers and tucked it beneath his head, propping himself up a little so he could see her better. "No, thanks. I prefer to keep my wits about me. Pain serves a purpose anyway. It's supposed to remind us there's something wrong so we don't hurt ourselves further."

"Yeah, I know, but if it hurts too much you can't rest well, either," she reminded him. "Let me know if you want to get some sleep."

She opened the blinds fully, bathing in the blue-white glow of the streetlights outside the hospital, stripes of shadow curving across the planes of her face. "It's snowing outside," she remarked casually. "It hardly ever snows this late in the year. Spring's just around the corner."

"I love the snow," he told her. "I never get enough of it."

"You must be from the South, then," she returned. "I've had a steady diet of it every winter, all my life. Sometimes I wish I lived in Florida where I wouldn't have to bother with it."

"I guess it's all in the attitude," Jarod observed. "We always seem to want what we don't have."

"For the most part, but I've learned to be at ease with the cards I've been dealt. Something comes up in my life that bothers me, and I change it. Right now, life's okay. Very neat and tidy." She turned toward him and smiled.

He enjoyed seeing her happy. The realization of that pleasure flashed a warning signal in his mind, but the alarm was muted by the sparkle in her eyes, and faded away quietly in a matter of seconds.

"You're beautiful, Athena," he said softly.

Her smile faltered, and her eyes grew sad. "Thank you, Jarod," she said politely. She glanced down at the floor, at her shoes, then nervously returned her gaze to his face. "You caught my eye, too. I couldn't imagine why someone as handsome as you would be alone in the world. I was hoping you weren't psychotic or anti-social, and it looks like my faith wasn't too misplaced. You seem like a nice man, and fairly intelligent aside from being a bit too macho."

He chuckled softly, his free hand moving down to support his injured abdomen. "It isn't a matter of machismo," he assured her, but said nothing more to explain himself. It was better that she didn't know he was on the run, and that being drugged and having his mental processes slowed by the medication might mean the difference between freedom and imprisonment. He might have already lost valuable time in his quest, might even have been entered into a system that could raise a red flag somewhere at the Center. He would have to make sure his tracks were well covered and that nothing incriminating had been done while he was unconscious.

They chatted for another hour before sleep came for him, and when he awoke it was morning and Athena was standing beside the doctor, waiting for new instructions for her patient, and in short order she had breakfast for him, and a portable stereo complete with a stack of CDs that she had brought from home to entertain him. Before her shift was over there was a balloon bouquet and an arrangement of fresh flowers to brighten his room, and he began to feel guilty over all the attention she gave him. Athena seemed to understand immediately, and spent less time in the room with him for a day or two, giving him time to adjust to her friendship. After that she spent every free moment with him, and he grew to miss her when she wasn't with him.

As he spent less time sleeping, he returned to his casework, studying the newspaper clippings about the death of a recording engineer employed at Cutting Edge Recording Studio in downtown Nashville. Athena did not stay to visit when he was working and never asked him about what he was doing. Other nurses did, and teased him about being Athena's latest foundling, which he accepted with humor and good grace. Out of curiosity he began to ask questions about her, and discovered that none of her co-workers knew much about her life after hours, except that she was always busy with something and rarely at home.

That piqued Jarod's curiosity, for he had found in his various quests that most people led shallow lives in fixed areas, with routines that favored indolence rather than industry. He was constantly learning, having been programmed to do so from an early age, asking questions about the simplest things and connecting references that hadn't made much sense to him before.

He was discovering the world at large and the way people fit into it, the way their lives all melded together and touched everyone else's, the way their existence affected everything. The other nurses accepted Athena's mystery as a personal idiosyncrasy, but Jarod was determined to discover why she kept to herself and where she went when she wasn't working. Curiosity kept him entertained, when he wasn't using it to deliver justice.

He asked her casually about the class she had mentioned to him previously, and found her startled that he would remember such a minor reference.

"Tuesday and Thursday nights I go to the university," she admitted frankly. "It's something I do just for fun. I'm not working on a degree or anything like that."

"What else do you like to do?" he asked innocently, sensing she didn't want to give him details. "You have an eclectic taste in music, a little of everything from classical to country to rap. Most people don't have such a wide range of interests in the different genres."

"I like to dance," said Athena, blessing him with another bright smile. "You could say I'm interested in everything. I love to read, but I don't always have much time for it. Usually I crack the books in binges, when I'm studying something new I want to learn. How about you? How do you like to spend your spare time?"

"I actually lead a pretty busy life," he answered evasively. "Sometimes I don't even have time for sleep. I'm sort of catching up right now, but this bed is getting to be a prison."

"How about if I borrow a robe for you and we go for a walk up the halls?" she offered. "You'll have to bring your IV along, but you can use the pole for support in case you get tired. Or you can lean on me, if you'd rather."

Jarod peeled back the sheet and started cranking up the bed to a sitting position to make it easier to get to his feet. By the time she returned with a worn terry-cloth robe that was a little small for him but still covered the gap in the back of his hospital gown, Jarod was standing beside his bed, clutching the cold metal pole where his intravenous liquids were hung. Athena took him by the elbow and led him slowly out of his room and on a tour of the hospital. They found themselves outside of the nursery on the maternity floor, watching the nurses caring for a tiny premature infant in an incubator.

"Babies are such incredible creatures," he observed, watching with wondering eyes as a newborn was bathed and wrapped in a warm blanket, then tucked away in a plastic bassinet with a name tag written in bold black magic marker. The blue balloons and teddy bear proclaimed _It's a Boy!_ and the surname beside it read, "Russell." His eyes traced over the curves of the baby boy's face, looking for some similarity to his own, hoping for a moment that there might be some connection between them and wondering if he would ever be safe enough to risk having a child one day. 

But then, he wasn't really Jarod Russell. There was no connection between him and that innocent aside from his own powerful wishes. He wondered about his mother, what had happened to her and his father, if they even knew he was alive, and sadness settled over him like a mantle of lead.

Athena put her arm lightly about his waist and gently urged him away from the window. She had seen the wistfulness in his expression turn to pain and kept her curiosity to herself, determined to keep Jarod from unpleasant memories if she could help it. "Come on, Jarod," she ordered softly. "It's time you were getting back to your room now. This is enough for one day."

He accompanied her without protest, his gaze turning from the polished tile floor beneath them to her face as she walked him back down the halls and into the elevator that would take them to his floor. They spoke quietly about music and art and books, and she asked him for a reading list. She was surprised at the subjects he requested, but once again asked no questions about the purpose of his research or the wisdom of his choices. Once her shift was over she left the hospital and scoured the library for a selections of books, including a handful from the children's library that had been her favorites as a young girl. Those books she placed on the bottom of the stack and sent them up to him while she went to her class.

Late that night, as she was turning down the bed covers to retire for a well-deserved sleep, her phone rang.

"Thank you for the books," said a deep male voice in her ear.

"How did you get my home number, Jarod?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

"A little charm goes a long way, Athena," he returned mischievously. "My favorite was _The Velveteen Rabbit_. It was sad and happy all at once."

"I know. I always cry when I read that one," said Athena. "I identified with the Rabbit, how much he loved the Boy and yet yearned to be Real. He wanted it and feared it all at the same time. That's how I've always felt, like I was never quite real, always on the outside of what everyone else is doing, never really part of anything."

Jarod felt her words take hold of his heart, and tears gathered in his eyes. "Me, too. Being different is lonely, Athena. But I don't feel lonely with you. Thank you."

"How are you different, Jarod?"

There was an edge to her voice that he recognized instantly. She was expecting something unpleasant to come up, something that would make him alien to her. He wanted to make a joke, to pass it off lightly, slide past it. But something deep inside him made him reach for the truth instead. He wanted her to know.

"I'm very smart, Athena," he said slowly. "I've led a sheltered life directed toward making me smarter, so there's a lot that I've missed. Including being a child."

There it was, plain and simple. He waited patiently, gripping the phone as if it was a tangible link to her, connected to her more than just a piece of machinery pressed against her ear.

"Then we seem to have a lot in common," she said huskily. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jarod. I'm glad you liked the books."

There was a slight pause before he heard the click of the receiver settling into the cradle on her end. It disturbed him that she didn't say goodbye, but part of him was soaring. She wasn't put off by his brilliance in the least; in fact, she seemed to feel there was common ground between them. And for the first time in his life, he felt the presence of another soul within his, as if Athena had somehow stolen into his heart and lay whispering inside him, comforting him, touching him so intimately that he could think of nothing else. He disregarded the warning bell ringing in his subconscious though he could clearly hear its toll. For the first time he began to think as a man rather than a person, and wonder what it was like to hold a woman closely, to feel the curves of her body molding against his, to breathe her perfume with every breath he took, to feel her lips touching his.

The fantasy was painfully beautiful, and would not go away. He turned on the television for some distraction, but every program seemed to involve romance and featured some man and woman in a clinch. He knew how the act progressed, had studied it in clinical detail, but never actually imagined what it was like. Now it consumed him, made him hot and agitated and in need of motion. He got out of bed, eased slowly into his borrowed robe, clutched his IV pole and went for a walk down the corridors. He stopped by the supply room and fetched himself a pair of surgical greens, removed his IV and taped a band-aid over the tiny wound, then headed for the doctors' locker room. He lifted a lab coat and name tag, found a pair of shoes that fit, and made his way to the administrative offices. After a few minutes at a computer he determined that nothing incriminating had gone out of the hospital on him and that his location was still probably safe from the Center. He returned all the borrowed items and took a new IV kit, hooked himself back up to the fluid drip and returned to his room.

A week later he was discharged and paid his bill in full with a fond farewell to the nursing staff, including a special word of thanks to Athena Morgan. She extended an invitation to lunch sometime during the next week and he promised to call, not at all sure he would have time for a social life once he got started on his mission. But it was nice to know that she wanted to see him again, and he hoped he would be able to comply with her wishes. He wanted to spend time getting to know her better, though he was not at all sure of the wisdom of such action considering his precarious personal history, and decided at last to just let go.  

 

 

Cutting Edge Recording Studio was a legend in the music business. Though the name was new, the building and its principles had been in operation for decades and none but the biggest stars booked time there. Only the best engineers were available, with resumes that would make even the most jaded producers take notice. Jarod Edison had worked there less than a week when he was dubbed the Wizard by the other engineers, making even the spottiest recording session sound like the work of angels. It was said of him that a singer could not make a mistake with his fingers on the soundboard, and for that reason he was selected to work on Mia Sharp's new album. Rumor had it that Miss Sharp's star was falling from grace, and after two decades in the business she needed all the miracles she could get.

But when Jarod found out that Dave Palmer, the engineer whose death had prompted him to come to Nashville, had had a minor obsession with Mia Sharp, she became his prime suspect in the man's death. Palmer had been chief engineer in every one of Sharp's recording sessions at Cutting Edge, including several late night rehearsals with only a skeleton crew working into the wee hours to get the new material in shape and ready to record.

 

 

"Damn, I sound like I did when I first started," Mia said admiringly as she listened to the replay of her vocals on the latest track. She closed her eyes and let her hips sway to the rhythm, her scarlet painted nails delicately touching the headphones covering her ears. "Very good, Jarod. You can work for me anytime."

Jarod sat back in his chair before the soundboard, his arms crossed over his chest. "Thanks, Ms. Sharp," he drawled slowly. "Your opinion means a lot to me."

Charles Pierce swept into the sound booth at that moment, still wearing his coat from outside though the recording booths were deep in the bowels of the huge building, insulated from the sounds of the outside world. He tapped Mia on the shoulder impatiently, and she jerked the headphones off, her head snapping around to confront whomever had disturbed her.

"What the hell do you want, Chuck?" she snarled. Her short blonde hair was swept across one fine-boned cheek in the wake of the cushioned earpiece, and she swept the locks savagely back into place. "And it damn well better be important!"

"You've got to find someone else to take you to the premier tonight," he said brusquely. "I have to meet with the record label execs. They're talking about pulling the plug on the album."

Mia Sharp narrowed her over-painted steely eyes at the tall, graying gentleman who had produced her last 5 albums, including the one she was presently making. "You'd better talk them out of it, Chuck. We can't afford to stop now. It's almost complete! Just a couple more songs and once this is out, I'll be back on top of the charts again."

"Leave that to me, Mia," Pierce reassured her stiffly. "But meantime, you've got to find an escort to the gala."

The singer glanced down at the silent engineer watching the exchange with interest. "Can you dance, Wizard?" she asked.

Jarod had never danced in his life. "Of course," he returned easily.

"Then grab a tux, handsome. You're taking me out tonight," she told him sharply. "And bring me a pale pink rose to wear in my hair. Take the rest of the afternoon off and be ready to pick me up in the limo by eight."

"Yes, ma'am," said Jarod. He started shutting the equipment down, but Mia caught him by the shoulders and turned him in his wheeled office chair toward the door.

" _Now_ , Jarod," she commanded. "I don't want you getting a tux off the rack and embarrassing me with trousers that don't hug that ass just right. I'll get someone else to come in and shut down."

Jarod strode out the door obediently, but hesitated on the far side of the wall for a moment, hoping to overhear some important tidbit of conversation between the principals of his investigation.

"You'd better keep this album alive, Chuck," Mia hissed angrily.

"We've both got a lot at stake here," Pierce retorted softly. "Don't think I don't remember."

"That was an accident," she snapped.

"Was it?" he asked disbelievingly. "Palmer had been stalking you. Everybody knows that."

"And he said he'd stop after I confronted him in front of the other engineers. I've never seen a man more humiliated."

"Yeah, and you remember what happened after that, too, don't you, Mia? I don't suppose you'll ever forget that, even if you were three sheets to the wind."

"Stop it, Charles! I'm finishing the album. That's all that's important, isn't it?"

After a moment Sharp sauntered out the studio door and into the empty hallway toward the ladies room. A second later, Jarod Edison emerged from the nearer men's room and went out to look for a formal wear shop and a florist.

Miss Nashville's School of Dance was directly across the street from the formal wear shop, and Jarod glanced at his watch as he stepped in the front door. An aged black and white photograph of a brunette beauty queen hung like an icon on the wall facing the door, surrounded by trophies from nationwide dance competitions. To the left was a doorway that led into an office where a white-haired man and a fiftyish woman sat at a desk trying to figure out the new computer that stared back at them obliquely. The older man looked up with a fixed, patently false smile.

"Yes sir, what can we do for you?" His Tennessee birthright was evident in his speech.

"I need dancing lessons," said Jarod, offering a friendly smile. "I have four hours, and I'd like a private class, please. I'm willing to pay extra, if necessary, for such short notice."

The man and woman gave each other a meaningful glance and turned brightly smiling faces back to their new client. "The going rate is $50 an hour for private lessons without an appointment," said the aging Miss Nashville. "We have an instructor just finishing up her regular classes who can give you whatever time you need."

Jarod reached into his trouser pocket and laid ten twenty-dollar bills on the desk between them. The older man extended his hand for Jarod to shake as the woman gathered up the money.

"Right this way, Mr. um..."

" Edison. Jarod Edison."

The two men walked briskly down a short hallway, through the back of a large dance room and into a smaller one in which the lights had already been dimmed in anticipation of the instructor's exit. She stood at the far end of the room with her back to them as they entered, putting away the music CDs she had used for her last class.

"Tina Cole, I'd like you to meet Mr. Jarod Edison," the proprietor announced as he strode across the highly polished wooden floor toward the young woman dressed in a royal blue leotard, white tights and a sheer pale blue chiffon dance skirt floating about her hips.

Her head jerked upward instantly and she stared at the wall before her for several seconds before bending to her task again. Her silvery blonde hair hung in a braid between her shoulders, but a cloud of tendrils had escaped and hovered about her head like a nimbus as she moved.

"G'day, Mr. Edison," she called without turning around. "And what can I do for you today?"

Jarod placed her heavy accent as Australian and wondered what had brought her so far from home.

"Private lessons, Tina," the proprietor answered for him. "He's paid up front for four hours. I know you were planning on doing some choreography for the recital this summer, but can you spare the afternoon for a paying customer?"

"Yeah, mate, but you owe me," she said, turning around with her arms crossed over her chest. She made brief eye contact with the older man and turned her attention fully to the visitor approaching with his hand extended.

"Pleased to meet you, Tina," he said warmly, studying her face intently. Something about her was strangely familiar, but he couldn't place it immediately.

"The same, I'm sure," she replied flatly. "What kind of dancing did you want to learn today, Mr. Edison?" She fixed him with a pair of vivid blue eyes and waited, her face aglow with a thin sheen of perspiration from the exercise she had already gotten.

He shrugged. "I don't know. But please call me Jarod."

"What kind of music, then?"

"No idea." He cocked his head. "Why not just teach me all of them?"

The older man laughed out loud and slapped Jarod on the shoulder. "Have fun, kids," he offered, and left them alone to work out the problem together.

"Well, there's country and western line dancing, ballroom dancing, jazz dance, tap and ballet... Any of those strike your fancy?"

"I think it's going to be some kind of social occasion," Jarod explained. "I'm escorting my boss to a premier. But that's all she told me."

"Well that helps," said Tina. "But since you don't know what kind of music is going to be played, we'd best start with country and get to ballroom after. I hope you're a quick study, Jarod."

She turned away then and selected several CDs, loaded them into the stereo and picked up the remote. Leading him by the hand to the middle of the dance floor, she began with a litany about balance and rhythm. When they had reached their marks and turned to face the long mirrored wall, she punched the "Play" button on the remote and demonstrated the Cotton-Eyed Joe for him. On the second try he got it right, and she went into the next dance immediately. After line dancing she taught him to waltz, then the foxtrot and cha-cha, some elementary jazz dance that he could use on the floor for rock and roll music, and then she started the music all over again to test him and see how much he had retained.

Tina Cole laughed under his arm during the line dances, and when he held her in his arms for the ballroom dances her vivid blue eyes were alight with admiration. Jarod concentrated on the increasing pain in his side from too much activity too soon after surgery to help him keep him focused on learning, for he felt himself floating as he held her body close to his. It was as if they were dancing a foot off the ground, effortless and free. The play of muscles in her back beneath his hand was mesmerizing, and never in his life could he remember being so close to another human being for such a period of time. He didn't want it to end.

"Very good, mate!" she exclaimed, offering him a round of applause when they finished. A glance at the clock told her that little more than an hour and a half had passed.

"Teach me more," he urged her enthusiastically.

"Don't you think that's pushing it?" she asked with an enigmatic smile. "You're looking a bit tired, there, fella."

"More please," Jarod demanded politely. He couldn't take his eyes off her face, for her expression had revealed a unique dimple in her chin that clicked in his memory instantly. Miss Nashville's School was all the way across town from the hospital where he had been a patient so recently, and Jarod knew that most people kept to their own neighborhoods, choosing jobs near their homes or vice versa, keeping to regular paths and living in small areas of their city. Perhaps Athena counted on that to keep people from recognizing her here in the dance school, and with different colored hair and eyes and a foreign accent, the chances of recognition were even slimmer. But Jarod saw through the disguise and wondered why she lived as two different people.

An hour later Jarod lay panting on the hard wooden floor, holding his side lightly and grinning with delirious pleasure.

"This is fun," he said between breaths.

"Are you sure you're all right, Jarod?" Tina asked concernedly. "Got a stitch in your side, there, mate?"

"I'm fine, Athena," he assured her happily. "I just had surgery last week and probably overdid it a little. But then you knew that already, didn't you?"  

Her brows furrowed in confusion. "How would I know that, since we just met this afternoon? And by the by, my name's Tina."

Jarod put a hand on her ankle as she leaned over him. "It's all right. I'll keep your secret. I've got plenty of my own."

Tina crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "Don't be getting weird on me, mate," she warned him coolly.

He only smiled and climbed wearily to his feet. "I guess that's enough for one day. Unless there's any really important dances I should learn for tonight."

"Depends on how big a scene you want to make. There's always the tango or the lambada. If you've got a thing for your boss, they could come in handy." Tina glanced at her fingernails to indicate a casualness that her face belied. "They're pretty dramatic. Real attention-getters on the dance floor."

"Teach me more," he prompted, and held out his hands toward her.

"I've got to change the music," she told him, holding up her hands to stay him for a moment.

She danced back to him, swirling around his body like a moth drawn to a flame. He saw an intensity in her eyes he did not understand, but when she took his hands and pressed her body up against his an awareness of something primal surged up in him and all he could think about was where their bodies were touching. The music led them both across the floor in stylized motions that she demonstrated without a word, and when the tango was finished the man and woman stood a breath apart on the dance floor, their eyes riveted to each other's. Another song started, sultrier, darker, with a driving beat, and Jarod reached for her, his hands cupping her face hesitantly. Tina danced around him like a maypole, coming back to press her body closely against his, still moving in time to the music.

Jarod swayed with her, embracing her lightly, unsure what to do. He was missing something, but he didn't know what it was, and when the music finished Tina stepped away from him and flashed him a brief grin. "That about fills up your dance card, mate," she told him breathlessly. She extended her hand to him in business-like fashion. "It's been a pleasure."

For a moment he stood rooted to the wooden floor. But when she turned away to store the CDs back into their cases, he realized that the moment had passed and doubted it would come again. He thanked her for her time and strolled out slowly, hoping to see her as she left the school, but she did not come out after him. A glance at his watch told him that time was growing short, and he would have to hurry to get to the florist's and back to pick up the altered tuxedo in time to get dressed for the evening and meet the limousine when it arrived to pick him up at the studio.

 

 

Mia Sharp was late. After sitting in the limo for over an hour with no sign of her, Jarod exited the car and presented himself at the door of her fashionable home. The maid who answered the door smiled at him nervously and apologized for the delay, stating that Miss Sharp was a little under the weather. Jarod expressed sympathy and asked if he should cancel the evening, but the maid told him hurriedly that Miss Sharp would definitely be down soon. She did not miss parties like that one, rubbing elbows with the royalty of the music world.

So he waited. Nearly two hours later Miss Sharp wandered down the staircase, her right hand gripping the banister fiercely as she strained to keep her balance.

She was drunk. Her hair and make-up were gorgeous, perfectly applied except for her lipstick, which was nearly gone on her lower lip, evidence that she'd had a glass pressed to it often recently. She smiled at Jarod and reached out for his elbow as he escorted her to the car, liquor fumes so strong on her breath that they nearly knocked him down.

When they arrived at the gala most of the paparazzi had already departed, leaving just a handful gathered by the doorway leading into the posh downtown hotel. Mia told him to follow her in once she had reached the door so she could make her entrance alone, and Jarod heaved a sigh of relief. No one was interested in him, after all. He was only a nameless, last-minute escort. Just a few flashes went off to capture Miss Sharp's glassy smile, but still, he would have to watch the papers for any inadvertent publication of his likeness and make haste accordingly.

Without further ado the couple were admitted to the exclusive gala, starting with the viewing of a series of music videos from various artists, including the noteworthy Miss Sharp. Jarod was delighted and impressed with the medium, though there was much about the concept that he didn't understand. After the premier were cocktails and _hors d'oerves_ , and Mia urged him to let go of her and mingle on his own. But no one would talk to him without her beside him, so he wandered into other ballrooms and finally into the hotel bar, watching people interact with each other, which was his favorite thing to do. Until he heard the band playing, and turned in the semi-darkness to appreciate the faces that went along with the wonderful, unusual music that caught his ear. There were four men playing a variety of instruments on the tiny, poorly lit stage, but the voice of the unknown band was a woman.

She had long, dark brown hair and dark eyes, and sat on a stool at stage center with a balalaika on her lap, experienced fingers picking out a haunting tune that he recognized as a Russian folk song. She announced the song as _In A Glade_ and when she began to sing, she used perfect Ukraine dialect, which contrasted highly with her Hispanic appearance, and the Celtic song the band had just finished. He stayed through three more songs before he saw her grin at a patron down front, and suddenly felt as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him.

He was sure he wasn't mistaken. The woman on the stage was Athena Morgan. Leaning over to the bartender, he asked, "Who's the singer?"

"That's Angela Reyes and the Rainbow Warriors," he answered succinctly. "They're regulars here. Want a drink?"  

"Virgin Mary, please," he answered and paid immediately. "They're very good, aren't they?"

The bartender nodded. "Beats me why no record company's snatched 'em up yet."

Jarod muttered to himself as he took a sip of his drink. "Maybe Angela doesn't want the attention."

The band played with no sign of stopping, and eventually Jarod wandered back into the exclusive party. Mia Sharp was relieved to see him, and suddenly anxious to get home. He pressed her to know what had made her so nervous, but she refused to answer. Until she saw Charles Pierce coming toward them.

"He's got blood in his eye, Jarod," Mia whispered. "You've got to get me out of here!"

"He's not going to do anything to you, Miss Sharp," he assured her. "You're his songbird, remember?"

Mia did not take her eyes off the rapidly approaching producer. "Look, my wizardly friend, that man's got a hair trigger temper and the Green Beret credits to make him dangerous. I mean really dangerous. He's not going to be happy that I had a few drinks before coming here. I don't want him to do to me what he--" She shut her mouth quickly, glanced up at Jarod's interested, guileless face, and gave him a trembling, apologetic grin. "Just get me home, okay, sweetie?"

"Anything you ask, Miss Sharp," he agreed warmly, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm. "Shall we?"

Mia continued to glance over her shoulder as they wended their way through the crowd until her balance suffered so much that she stumbled against Jarod and nearly fell. He caught her and pulled her into his arms, slipping one hand around her waist and catching her hand in his free one. He danced with her through the crowd, watching her astonished face fill with wonder and pleasure as he led her out of the crowd in style. He made up for her every misstep, and when they reached the red carpet leading outside to the limousine she was still swaying to the music emanating from the ballroom behind them. "Jarod, you're divine," she said happily as he ushered her into the long white car. "I think I'll keep you."

He smiled mysteriously and followed her into the interior of the spacious vehicle.

 

 

The coroner's report that Jarod had managed to duplicate stated that David Palmer died of asphyxiation, and that his neck had been broken prior to death. The body had been found in the victim's garage, hanging from a rafter by an old rope. Beneath Palmer's feet was a small stool, apparently knocked over by the victim himself in order to commit suicide. Palmer's mother discovered the body the day after he had missed calling her for her birthday. That was what tugged at Jarod's heart, for he could not remember his mother's birthday at all. He couldn't even remember his own. The Center's records listed him as 37 years old, and the date that he arrived to be tested, but nothing else. He thought it terribly unjust for a son's mother to be the one to discover that death had come and taken him away, and wondered if the Center had told his parents that he was dead all those years ago. All he knew for certain was that Palmer's mother denied that her son would commit suicide, regardless of the coroner's conclusion. That was the only information Jarod needed to undertake the investigation on her behalf. And after paying a sympathy call on her and talking to her about her son, he was even more certain that David Palmer's death was murder. They were Catholics, she explained to him, and suicide was a mortal sin. No devout Catholic would ever take their own life, and while David did not always attend church regularly, his beliefs were strong enough to make him too afraid of the consequences to take that route.

Jarod remembered the rosary that Athena had been praying over him when he awoke in the hospital when he saw Mrs. Palmer clutching hers during his visit, and after a little research he understood what the beaded necklace was for. He was touched that Athena would pray for him, and wondered if anyone else ever had. He was sure his own mother would have.

He wanted to see Athena again. She seemed always to be somewhere in the back of his mind, and he wanted to ask her about her life, why she had made the choices she lived with every day. But instead he looked up the Green Berets at the nearest branch of the library and found out they were an elite military group, renowned for their deadliness.

Sunday afternoon found him at the doors of a martial arts school, laying a stack of bills on the desk and asking for private lessons once again. Not because he wanted to learn how to fight, but because he needed to know something about what Green Berets were taught, how they killed in hand-to-hand combat, and the head instructor was a former Green Beret himself. The secretary of the school showed Jarod into the training room where an instructor's class was in progress. He sat down on the sofa in the rear of the room and watched the handful of people practice their dance-like forms, catalogues of combat that they used as mnemonics to remember every technique in their repertoire. Among them was a delicate woman, the only female in the group, with brown eyes, hardly wearing any trace of make-up, and black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her movements were more graceful than the others, and something about the curves of her face made him look for other similarities. It was Athena, once again, somehow looking more Asian than white. The clothing was part of it, with the Mandarin-collared jacket and frog buttons down the front of her jacket. He was smiling broadly when he caught her eye at last and gave her a wink. She pretended not to recognize him again and ignored the gesture coolly, but when the head instructor dismissed the class and came to ask him his business, he asked for the woman to teach his private class and the _sifu_ agreed at once.  

"This is Catherine Kim," the _sifu_ announced when he fetched her back to the training room.

"Hello, Sifu Kim," Jarod said cordially, reaching out his hand to shake hers warmly. "I'm just wondering how many of you there are."

A flash of warning flickered in her brown eyes. "We have eight instructors here at the school," she answered casually.

"I'm sure Cat will be able to help you with whatever you need, Mr. Edison," the _sifu_ said in parting. "She's one of our best."

Man and woman stood alone in the dimly lit training hall, mirrors along one wall reflecting their stationary images back to them.

"I think we can drop the pretense, now," said Jarod softly. "I know who you are. You know who I am."

She took a step away. "No, I'm afraid I don't, Jarod," she argued easily. "I know next to nothing about you, except that you have secrets. Want to part with any of them to put us on even ground?"

He hesitated, not at all sure he should tell her anything about himself. "I'm just like you," he said finally.

"Oh, really," she shot back disbelievingly. "And what exactly to you mean by that?"

The quiet in the room intensified and grew cooler. "We're called Pretenders. With some background information, we can become anything we want to be."

"That's true of everyone," she snapped. Her arms crossed defiantly over her chest and she lifted her chin haughtily.

"No, it isn't. Most people spend half their lives preparing to be one thing. We can become someone different in a matter of weeks. Days, maybe, depending on how difficult the job is for us to learn. Five minutes for an exterminator. Ten minutes for a fireman. Three weeks for a doctor. Three days for a lawyer. The list goes on." He could see in her eyes that she was looking for a way to escape, something she could say that would misdirect him and lead him along another path. But this time he would not be denied. "What's the class you have on Tuesday and Thursday nights?"

She bowed her head, embarrassed that he had seen through her so easily. "Physics."

"Taking or teaching?"

 She swallowed hard. "Teaching."

"And the name you use?"

A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and she raised her eyes to his. "An honorarium for my late father," she answered slowly. "You figure that one out."

He nodded. "I will. But for now, I want you to show me all the ways you know how to kill someone with your bare hands."

Athena's eyes narrowed and she took another step backward, suspicions rising quickly. "That's the last thing I expected from you, Jarod."

His gaze never wavered. "Not to use on anyone," he assured her firmly. "To figure out what was done to someone else."

Athena nodded and proceeded with the private lesson.

 

He was drenched in sweat when she finished with him, and disturbed that she knew so many ways to kill, but the knowledge did not lessen his need to know everything about her. It whetted his appetite instead.

"How long have you been doing this, Athena?" he panted as they sat down in the floor to rest.

"Meaning 'this' as in martial arts or 'this' as in multiple lives?" she returned cautiously. Her fingertips made little circles on the wooden floor.

"Martial arts."

"About three months, I guess," she responded slowly. "I came here from elsewhere in the city. I've been in Nashville for about two years now. And I was just thinking it's about time to move on."

He stared at her face for a moment, frightened of the thought of being separated from her, knowing that he had at last discovered a kindred spirit. "Not yet, Athena. Please stay a little longer. For me."

She smiled then, melting the coolness in her eyes. "Got to take care of my Onlies," she said warmly. "Maybe I'll go with you when you're ready to split. Which I take it won't be too much longer."

"Soon," he assured her. "There are some things I have to finish up first. Would you like to go out with me and get something to eat? I'm starving after the workout you gave me."

She nodded. "I must admit, you heal faster than anyone I've ever seen, Jarod." Getting to her feet, she extended her hand to him to help him up. "But I still worry about you being overly macho and hurting yourself. You shouldn't be engaging in so much arduous exercise so soon after surgery. It's barely been two weeks."

"There's my Florence Nightingale!" he cheered. "I knew you were in there somewhere."

Suddenly he realized that she had not let go of his hand when he stood. She was still holding it, and gazing up into his eyes with a light he had never seen in anyone before. It was as if the sun had risen in her face, and the brightness was blinding him.

"I didn't know people like us existed outside the Centre, Athena," he breathed huskily. The room was suddenly too hot, and he took off his shirt to use as a towel on his face. He noticed that his hands were shaking, though he did not take his eyes off Athena's. His stomach burned and trembled as though he might be ill, but he shook off the sensation quickly, watching her gaze shift to take in his body, seeing the dawning of hunger settle into her features as she looked at his bare chest, dusted with a mat of dark hair that led all the way down his belly.

"The center of what?" she queried, forcing her eyes back up to his face.

Briefly he told her about the people who had raised him, used him, kept him prisoner, knowing he could trust her with his secret, and that she alone would be able to believe him. Before he finished there were tears sparkling in her eyes, and her lips were trembling. In her face he could see her living his life, locked away from the world, from love, from everything but purpose. And he knew she understood. Better than anyone else ever could, she felt what he did, and the heat that had settled over him in the afterglow of exercise began to glow brighter, flaming up inside him.

She leaned forward slightly, waiting for him to respond.

"Have you ever been kissed, Jarod?" she asked him when he remained still, without coming to meet her.

He nodded, bleak sadness creeping into his eyes on the heels of a memory. "By my mother, when I was little."

"Then you have something new to learn, my friend," she told him seriously. "Would you like your lesson here and now or somewhere more private?"

His face flushed, knowing his expertise on the subject was only rudimentary. But he felt there was something more that she wanted from him, evidenced by her suggestion to leave with him. He wasn't sure that he could afford to look after her, or to get so attached to her that he let her slow him down and get caught. She had become an obsession he could not dare keep, and he was afraid to get any more entangled than he already was.

"I can't stay here, Athena," he warned her calmly. "Whatever we start will end quickly. I may not even get a chance to say good-bye. And I'm not sure that I can take you with me."

Looking up at him bravely, she nodded. "I understand, and I accept that." Athena placed her hands lightly on his chest, not enticing, not demanding, just making contact. "But you have to understand, Jarod. This isn't just about you anymore. I didn't think there was anyone else in the world like me. From the moment you recognized me at that dance studio and again here, I realized there was something special about you, too. I've... I've been waiting for you all my life, Jarod. And if I have to lose you, I want to have some pretty special memories to keep me warm at night."

He considered her casual contact and all the implications of what she had told him. Looking down at the floor between them to gather his words before speaking to her again, he said carefully, "I've never been close to anyone before. I'm not sure I know what to do."

Athena did not smile. "I've done a lot of things with guys, but I'm a virgin, too. Either men bored me or I scared them away. I don't want to lose this chance with you, Jarod. I know the position I've put you in may not be quite comfortable. They say, 'better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' I know it's less painful to remain ignorant, but I'd be willing to suffer your absence in my life in exchange for even a single hour of your love."

Jarod met her eyes coolly. "Is that what this is between us?" he demanded with velvet softness. He took her shoulders in his hands and held on tightly, afraid to let her go. Love was what he wanted between them, but he was terrified of it.

"I can't believe that it's anything else, Jarod."

He shook his head. "I won't do that to you," he told her thickly. "What if I..." Words caught in his throat and wouldn't swallow down. "What if we..." Pain and panic glowed in his eyes, and he pushed the words out in a frantic rush. "If I got you pregnant, Athena, I'd never know it. I'd never see my own child."

She withdrew her hands and stepped out of his grasp, her expression unchanged. "There are precautions," she reminded him, and tore her gaze away from his tortured face. Her weight shifted away from him and she took a small backward step, accepting his unspoken decision without protest. "It's all right, Jarod. You're right. It's too big a risk for us to take."

He caught her before she took another step, catching her by the elbow and pulling her roughly into his arms, panting as if they had just ended their workout. Agony squeezed his chest, easing somewhat as he felt her return his embrace just as tightly. The scent of her hair made him dizzy; the feel of her clothed body pressing against his sweaty flesh made him so weak he staggered.

"I love you, Jarod," she whispered against his throat, softly enough that he could not hear the words, only feel that she had spoken. Tears formed and slid down her cheeks without a sound.

"I've never been in love before, Athena," he said huskily, sensing what her confession had been. "I can't say for sure that's what I'm feeling because I have no point of reference. But I know how much I need you. Being away from you makes me feel so empty inside." He pulled away a little, took her face in his hands, aware of his need to touch her everywhere with his hands. "Athena, I can't stay. I can't keep you in my life. I can't have you, can't, can't let myself love you..."

Even as he breathed his protest against her lips he drifted closer to her, drawn by an irresistible force that sapped his will and closed his eyes and stilled his lips against hers. He tasted tears and couldn't tell if they were hers or his own, but he didn't care anymore. All his doubts slipped away as her mouth moved against his, and he was overcome with a rush of tender sweetness so all-pervasive there was no part of him free of it.

"This is so... _good,"_ he whispered against her cheek happily. "No wonder people do it so much." His chest still hurt, his whole body ached with an unnamed need, but nothing mattered save the woman in his arms.

"I'm scared, too, Jarod," she sniffed. "But I don't want to lose this one chance for something real in my life. Something that matters. I want you to know to the roots of your soul how I feel about you. I know you're leaving, and that we may not be able to stay together. But you can take me with you in your heart. And if you're willing... maybe I can go with you."

Jarod smiled. "We could try. But right now I have some things to do. Shall I come to your place later tonight?"

Athena kissed him again. "Bring your toothbrush and a change of clothes. I'll wait up for you."

Jarod stood in the driveway with a remote control in hand, fine tuning it until it emitted just the right frequency to open the garage door. It was late on Sunday afternoon and children were playing on the sidewalk and in their front yards, oblivious to the stranger visiting Dave Palmer's now empty house. He could see in the black and white photographs in his hand exactly how the body had been found, how the rope had been strung over an exposed beam in the ceiling where the sheet rock had fallen down and been cleared away ages before, the end of the rope tied to the leg of a sturdy workbench built onto the north wall. In the photographs he examined the knots and determined that both of them were specialty knots: one a hangman's knot, complete with the requisite 13 loops which appeared to have been responsible for breaking Palmer's neck, and the other was an easy sailor's half hitch.

Imagining Palmer lying still on the floor, his murderer standing over him, readying the rope, he could see the noose slipping over Palmer's head, the knot being tightened at just the right place over the already broken cervical vertebra that had also pinched his spinal cord and caused complete paralysis. Palmer might have been able to gasp out a whispered plea for mercy, but he would not have been able to move to save his life, watching his murderer toss the rope over the beam and begin to belay his limp body off the floor. Once suspended at the proper height, the killer had easily tied off the rope and walked over with gloved hands and placed the stool beneath Palmer's dangling feet. Jarod took a flashlight to check the leg of the workbench, and found the freshly worn marks on the wood, rope burns consistent with the friction necessary to haul something heavy up off the floor.

And Jarod knew that Mia Sharp, formidable woman that she was, did not have the physical strength to do such a job on a man that weighed considerably more than she did herself.

Which left him one more suspect, one who had an even stronger motive than a stalking victim. All he had left to do was assemble the remaining proof and arrange his final confrontation with Charles Pierce, Mia Sharp's former husband, reportedly still jealous of any man who gave his ex-wife a second glance. Jarod stood alone in the open garage, trying to block out the ghosts of Mrs. Palmer's heartbroken screams, still echoing within the walls of the empty room.

"No parent should live to see their child dead," he said quietly to the garage. "Not like this."

The mother's horror and grief seeped into his soul and he did not try to keep it out. It was after dark when he returned to the studio to make his preparations, selecting a room that was in the process of being remodeled. After gathering his supplies and studying the architecture in the room, he figured out how to rig up a simple noose and belay that would serve his purposes, one he could put up quickly when needed. Everything was set except for the bait, but he would need time alone with Mia to get the trap ready. And before that, he wanted to see Athena. There was still a chance that the Center might have seen a photograph of him with Mia at the premier, and he didn't have much time left.

 

Athena let him in quickly, locking the door after him, and glanced at the aluminum briefcase in his left hand. She took his coat and scarf and hung them on the hall tree before asking if he was planning on working sometime during the evening.

A sardonic smile flexed the dimple in his right cheek for a moment. "No. I brought you my past, Athena. This is something I stole from the Centre before I left. It helps me figure things out." He set the briefcase on her coffee table and opened it to reveal the DSA discs and reader. He sat down and activated the unit as she came to settle lightly on the sofa beside him.  He explained what was recorded on the tiny discs.

"Pick one," he offered enigmatically.

"The first one," she said quickly, and waited for him to select the familiar disc and insert it. She watched the dark-eyed boy build his Empire State building, heard a young Sydney comment on the boy's potential, and then Jarod stopped the segment, storing the disk back in its proper place.

"Next?"

Athena laid her hand lightly on his knee. "The turning point.   The project that made you realize you couldn't stay at the Centre."

"I can't really say any single event led me to that decision," Jarod mused. "It just took a long time to set everything in motion. What else?"

She stared at the blank screen thoughtfully. "The beginning of your last year there, or your last project you worked on."

"We called them 'simulations.' " Jarod put the disc in and showed her that record, watched himself shifting in viewpoint. It was harder to avoid running a simulation from the victim's perspectives, and Sydney constantly had to remind him to focus on the task at hand. The simulation finished and Jarod's face was haggard, beaded with sweat from his effort. The scene changed abruptly to a view of Jarod's room, and he started to reach for the disc to remove it.

"Wait," Athena commanded quietly. She saw Jarod sleeping, the room lights low, and the hidden camera zoomed in on his relaxed pose. His body jerked reflexively, an arm flung up over his face protectively and then relaxed again. Tossing, turning, restless, he lay in the disheveled bed, and then suddenly sat up wide-eyed and screaming. When wakefulness registered, Jarod began to cry, hugging himself and leaning forward to rest his body against his bent knees beneath the sheets, seeking some solace from his own warmth and finding none.

Athena held his hand then, watching him sit in stony silence beside her, his face a blank mask. "I've seen enough, Jarod," she whispered.

"There's one more I want you to see, but not tonight," he said solemnly. He touched the disc lightly, his fingertips stroking the clean, translucent plastic edge with a trace of wistful affection. "And you should know about some of the simulations I did. How many people died... because of me."

She lifted her chin defiantly as she gazed fully into his face. "And how many have you helped?" she demanded. "You were never given the opportunity to refuse these projects, were you? They didn't even treat you like a human being, Jarod! You were a commodity for sale to the highest bidder, to be used like a piece of machinery. My God, Jarod! My God. They forgot you have a soul."

He raised his eyes to hers then, saw the pain in her face and knew that her response was not motivated by sympathy or pity. In those few minutes of his past she had been there with him, inside him, sharing his horror, his agony, his loneliness. She was with him, part of him, and when he reached for her she was already there, her lips warm on his, her hands soothing in his close-cropped dark hair, across his shoulders and chest.

Her fingers worked the buttons down the front of his shirt while he kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks off with his toes. He parted her robe and slid it off her shoulders, his breath coming faster as she pulled away to assist him and take hold of his shirttail to pull it out of the waistband of his trousers. He unbuttoned the shirt cuffs while she unbuckled his belt, but when she reached for the snap on his pants a flash of panic seized him and he caught her hands, held them still.

"I did some reading on intercourse this afternoon," he panted.

"Did you do a simulation?" she asked lightly, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth.

He grinned back. "I didn't want to start without you," he returned warmly. "But I don't want to hurt you, either, Athena. I can hypnotize you so you won't feel the pain, if you want."

"No, Jarod," she cut in quickly. "I want to feel it. I want this memory intact, not just bits and pieces of it. I know there will be some discomfort, but that's part of the price. Everything has a payoff. Let me cherish you my way. Feel it with me, sort of a baptism of fire for us both."

Jarod nodded, fear and desire struggling for prominence in his thoughts. He rose a heartbeat after she did, caught her hand and followed her into her bedroom. She pulled back the covers and sat on the bed, watching him and waiting, her body sheathed in a thin white satin gown that hid nothing from his view. He began to unfasten his pants, imprinting every sight, sound, scent and sensation into his consciousness, savoring every movement he made that drew him closer to her. The condoms in his pocket were forgotten as he laid his trousers across the foot of the bed, and when he lay down beside her he took her in his arms as if she had always been there, a missing part of him now making him whole again.

There were moments of confusion and uncertainty, notes of surprised and nervous laughter, gasps and groans of raw pleasure, and a single cry of pain torn from two mouths at the same instant. Jarod's eyes took in the flicker of golden candle-glow lighting her skin, tasted her warm flesh, memorized the scent of their bodies as they made love. Over and over again his touch made her shudder and tense, her eyes closing slowly as the sensation overwhelmed her. There was no thought of his own pleasure; only Athena's, building into an intoxicating rush of wonder that left him breathless and weary and filled with a joy he could never have imagined. He could see it reflected in her eyes, feel it to the depths of her soul.

"Forever, Jarod, beloved," she whispered tearfully. "...in a single hour. A single night, if that's all we have."

He held her hips tighter, feeling his body's response to her now, and sank deeper into her womanly softness, releasing all of his dreams and hopes into her warmth. She reclined upon him, tucking her face against his neck, hugging his lean hips with her knees as she sat astride him.

"I think I'm in love with you, Athena," he murmured against her hair.

Hot tears against his throat were her only response. He held her for a long time before drifting off to sleep, and awakened suddenly from a nightmare hours later. She held him tightly, pressing his cheek against the swell of her cleavage, reminding him with a soft, sleepy voice that he was not alone, would never be completely alone again.

He made love to her once more, desperately, fiercely, obeying her urgent demands and surrendering to the comfort she gave him with her body and soul. She eased him into a peaceful sleep filled with dreams of sunshine, freedom and her endless love. And when morning came she was still wrapped around him, her eyes closed but instantly awake when he moved.

She looked tired, dark circles beneath her blue eyes.

"Didn't you sleep last night?" he asked drowsily, his fingertips chasing a morning shadow across her cheek as she smiled at him across the pillow they shared.

"You snore," Athena shot back playfully.

"I do?"

She sighed softly and snuggled against his neck. "No. I just couldn't sleep, thinking about things... Jarod, we didn't use any protection last night. I forgot completely about it."

For a moment he lay very still. "I had condoms in my pocket. I'm sorry, Athena. I--"

"Don't be sorry, Jarod. We did this out of love."

His passionate kiss carried her deeper into the pillow, and when he pulled away he was lying half on top of her, his body reacting to more than morning testosterone levels. But he held back, his mind on other things, questions that needed answers.

"Do you think...?"

Athena wriggled beneath him, cuddling. "It's a distinct possibility, beloved, that I could be pregnant. I'm right on the edge of possible fertility as far as timing goes, but I can't hazard a guess. We should know in a couple of weeks."

"I haven't got that much time," he said, his hurt showing clearly in his eyes. He held her fiercely to him, sorrow and joy intermingled in a double-edged blade that sliced cleanly through his soul.

"Then we'll just have to figure out a way for us to stay together," she breathed. Athena held back her tears, took control of her voice and made the words sound sincere. "There has to be a way. I know something will present itself sooner or later. We just have to be smart about what we choose."

"Yes," he agreed, and covered her mouth with his own.

 

Jarod sat at the soundboard, staring off into space. Suddenly the mission seemed less important that it had been the week before, and he wasn't sure he had the motivation to carry it through. His heart was elsewhere, and he had difficulty concentrating on his work. Everyone noticed, including Mia Sharp.

"Earth to Jarod," she said loudly into the microphone.

He started, and brought his eyes back to the soundboard in front of him, checking to see that the tape was ready to record. "Sorry, Mia," he apologized sincerely.

"Must be a woman," the singer teased with a warm smile. "I know the look."

He felt his face heat up and knew he was blushing, tamped down the response quickly.

"I knew it!" Mia crowed delightedly. "Who is she?"

"Just a girl," he said with a shrug. "Got your pipes warmed up, songbird?"

"It's about damn time," said Charles Pierce as he flung open the sound booth door. "The way you're working on this album, waiting till late at night, working for three and four hours at a time, it won't be finished till Christmas.   Pick up the pace, Mia, or I just might marry you again."

The singer's moment of good humor evaporated quickly. "That's definitely a threat."

The trio worked till after ten and most of the studio crew had gone home. Hall lights were dimmed in much of the building, and the wing assigned to the Sharp project was deserted except for the three in the sound booth. Mia demanded a break and left to find a soft drink machine, with Jarod exiting immediately after her.

Twenty minutes passed, and Pierce went out to look for them. A noise down the hall caught his attention and he followed his ear to the door of an unused booth, and heard the groans of ecstasy emanating from behind it. He jerked open the door and saw Jarod Edison embracing his ex-wife and Mia's arms wrapped around his waist to keep him close.

Pierce clutched at Jarod's shoulder and ripped him away from Mia. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you!" he roared.

"Mia's told me about you," said Jarod. "She said you killed David Palmer, and she was terrified that if she told anyone, you'd kill her, too. But then, you've been beating her up for years, haven't you, Charles?"

The big man's face grew florid with rage, then cooled quickly to pale, dangerous intent. "No one's going to know," he growled softly. "Everybody thinks Dave killed himself. I know how to cover my tracks. And if Mia doesn't keep her mouth shut, she's going to have it closed permanently! Now step away from her, Edison. It's time to pay the piper."

"I agree," said Jarod softly, his brown eyes taking on a deadly gleam. When Pierce struck out at him Jarod sidestepped as Athena had taught him, and wrapped his forearm around the producer's throat. He grabbed Pierce's right arm and brought it up behind the producer's back to immobilize him further. "This is called a sleeper hold, Charles. In a few seconds you'll be unconscious." He pivoted on his left heel and turned Pierce so he could see into the musicians' area on the far side of the glass that separated the sound crew from the microphones in the recording area. A simple scaffold had been erected there, rope and all. "While you're unconscious, you can't keep me from putting that noose around your neck, can you, Pierce? Just like David Palmer. Only he was awake and alert and knew what you were doing, didn't he? You broke his neck when Mia finally accepted his advances, and then carried him home and murdered him in his own home. And he couldn't stop you. Mia couldn't either, because you had left her tied up here at the studio until you got back, and scared her so badly you were sure she would never tell anyone what you had done. Isn't that right?"

Jarod could see their reflections in the soundproof glass, could see the man's fear and panic as he struggled for breath and fought to retain his hold on consciousness.

"Imagine what David Palmer must have felt, watching you rig up that noose, knowing you weren't going to let him live to tell people what you had done to him in a moment of jealous rage. Not only would you have gone to jail for assault, but you'd probably have lost everything you own to his lawsuit. So he watched you planning to take away his life, knowing he was helpless to stop you, probably begging you not to do it. Did he beg, Pierce? I want to know."

"Please, don't do this!" Pierce gasped.

Jarod nodded to Mia, who quickly fastened a pair of chrome-plated handcuffs on her ex-husband's wrists as they clutched at Jarod's arm across his neck.

"You're not going to hurt anyone ever again, Pierce," said Jarod finally, and squeezed just enough to make the man pass out. He lifted the inert body into a chair and led Mia out the door, locking it securely behind them. He put his arm around the woman's shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "Thank you, Mia," he said warmly. "Now you can testify without fear of reprisals. With the tape I recorded in that booth catching his threats to both of us, I think a jury will believe you when you tell them what you saw. And with the evidence in the envelope you have at your place, I think they'll see clearly enough to convict."

Mia Sharp smiled and hugged him back briefly. "I had my first AA meeting today," she told him proudly. "And I'm glad I went. I think it will help me get my life back. Thank you, Jarod. For everything. Working with you is going to be a pure pleasure."

He shook his head. "I probably won't be back, Mia," he returned casually. "You see, I'm not really a recording engineer..."

 

She stood in the dimly lit alcove in the back corner of the dance room, putting the CDs back in order from the day's use. After a brief stop in the bathroom to remove her leotard in favor of a half tank and sweatpants, she exited back into the music alcove to finish closing up and pull on her shoes and coat before locking up.

A shadow in the doorway caught her eye and Athena started, bumping the stereo and inadvertently turning on a disc still in the machine. She froze, unable to move, her heart pounding in her throat as the dark figure advanced toward her.

It was a man in a long coat, which he removed and dropped to the floor a few feet from the door.

"It's me, Athena," said a familiar deep voice.

Relieved laughter was her only reply as she sagged against the table behind her. "Jarod, you scared the wits out of me," she breathed with a smile. She glided across the floor to meet him in the halo of half-light from the alcove. Draping her arms around his neck, she asked softly, "What're you doing here? I wasn't expecting to see you until later tonight, at my place."

The music was sultry, its languid rhythm suggestive of another, more intimate dance. "I know," he whispered hungrily. "I came to lambada with you."

Man and woman danced slowly together, bodies clasped closely, lips a breath apart. Passion flared brightly in the darkness and Jarod lifted her left leg to his waist, tugging on the elasticized hem of her pants, drawing them downward. She let him take them off, let him lift her off the floor, wrapped her legs around his waist. They danced as one, moved as one, breathed as one, and when the music was over Athena held him tightly and began to weep.

"Run away from me, Jarod, and don't look back," she urged him. "There are things about me that you don't know. Things that would make you hate me if you knew."

"I already know, Athena," he whispered above her as they lay tangled on the floor. "I've always known. But it doesn't matter, beloved. Nothing matters as much as this."

She heard a door close in the front of the building and scrambled out from beneath him, reaching for her clothes. "Run, Jarod!" she cried louder, tears streaming down her face. "For God's sake, keep your freedom! They're coming! I thought they would wait until I called them. I was going to tell you to leave without me. I was hoping you'd just leave, but I screwed up again, just like I always do. _Run_ , Jarod! Please. For my sake. Because I love you and I don't want to see you caged again."

Both of them stood, hurrying to dress, and then Athena was shoving him toward the alcove. Footsteps crossed the threshold at the far end of the room and the lights came on suddenly, blinding the couple in the back of the room.

Athena glared at the woman in the lead, striding purposefully across the polished wood floor, a pistol in her hand. The dancer barely glanced at the gray-haired man bringing up the rear, watching the muzzle of Miss Parker's pistol rise from the floor, watching her chamber a bullet and prepare to fire.

"Now!" cried Athena, and pulled the false wall open in the alcove, revealing a hidden doorway leading to the lobby and the facility's only restroom. "Don't look back."

Jarod dived out the door at a dead run and slammed out the front door into the darkness without his coat.

Athena grabbed her dance skirt off the music shelf, shoved the garment over the latch and slammed the false wall closed, jamming the lock. She turned sadly triumphant eyes on the ever advancing Miss Parker, tensing when the muzzle of the redhead's pistol pressed against her forehead.

"I hope he was worth it, bimbo," Parker declared icily. "You may not have fulfilled your part of the bargain to catch Jarod, but we'll still fulfill ours. You won't have to live in the outside world ever again, sweetie. I'll see to that _personally_."

Athena met the woman's frigid green-eyed gaze with a strength she had not know she possessed. "As long as Jarod is free, that's all that matters to me anymore."

Parker smirked knowingly. "We'll see," she said enigmatically. "In the meantime, we'll have you, now won't we? Maybe we can use you one day for bait."

"Come along, dear," Sydney urged the dancer gently, familiarly. "Time to leave all this confusion behind now. You may not have worked out before as a Pretender, but perhaps you'll do better as a Center teacher. Those were the terms or our agreement, weren't they?"

Athena bowed her head, nodded. "If I had only know what sort of man he was from the beginning," she said sadly. "Parker painted quite a different picture of him. He isn't a monster at all. That's why I didn't call when he first arrived. I wanted a chance to see for myself, to get to know him first. But you came anyway. You knew I wouldn't turn him in, didn't you, Sydney?"

Sydney put his arm around her shoulders supportively, watching Parker head for the back door to call off the squad they had waiting there. "You performed exactly as I expected you to do," he assured her. "Your intuition is absolutely priceless, on the mark as usual." He smiled warmly at her, taking note of her defeat and ensuing grief. "You always got emotionally involved with your cases, to such a degree that you were ineffective as a Pretender. You didn't really pretend, the way Jarod and the others do. You, my dear, are for real."

 

Jarod stretched out in the quietly vibrating train car, the aluminum briefcase lying on his belly. He removed a DSA disc from its slot and slipped it into the reader, watched the black and white picture come up on the screen. The date was 1987 and Sydney was working with a teenage girl. It was the first DSA disc that Jarod had ever seen, the one that had made such an impact on him years before.  

The case was a murder investigation, and the young Pretender was making tremendous progress. She was quick, insightful, brilliant in her deductions. But before they finished the simulation she was screaming, hysterical, rigid with fear. She had slipped from the shoes of the killer to those of the victim, and the price of doing the simulation was too costly. Sydney called it off, leaving the girl curled up on the bed in the simulated apartment in the fetal position. In the next scene Mr. Parker was discussing her with Sydney.

"She's useless to us, Syd. Get rid of her."

"But with her lineage, Mr. Parker, there's got to be some position she can fulfill for us," Sydney argued. "We can't just toss her out on her ear. She has no one now, nowhere to go."

"Give her the money she's earned so far and a bus ticket to anywhere," Parker demanded. "I don't care what you do with her. Drown her in the bathtub if you want, but don't waste any more of our valuable time on her. She's finished here. You got that?"

Sydney sighed. "Yes, Mr. Parker. I'll see that she's taken care of immediately."

Parker left the room quickly, and for a moment Sydney gazed at his protege through the one-way glass. Sadly, he shook his head and sighed in defeat. "Such a waste," he said to himself. "I hope you'll be able to survive out there, Athena."

Jarod replaced the disc and shut down the unit, closing the briefcase silently. From his shirt pocket he withdrew a slip of paper with a single name written on it. Before leaving Tennessee he'd called every college in the book until he found the right one, the one with the missing physics teacher. And when he heard her name, the last pieces fell smoothly into place. Nan Demara had not reported for work the next day or the day after, but Jarod knew where she was. She would never be back; the Centre would see to that, and unless he was captured he would never see her again. Perhaps if he tired of running, or wearied of the game he was playing, he might consider returning on his own, if for no other reason that to see her and plot another escape. Or he could search her out in the Centre itself, electronically hunting her through the organization, or leaving a message for an unsuspecting minion to innocently pass on to her. He would find a way to contact her, as he always managed with Sydney and Miss Parker, no matter where they went.

But for now, he would hold onto the memories she gave him, knowing that the Velveteen Rabbit always became Real in the end. All it took was an honest tear. And Athena had shed a lifetime of those.

 

NEXT: Voices in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> This all started when I first saw Tony Curtis portraying the real life Pretender, Ferdinand Waldo Demara Jr., also known as "The Great Impostor" (one of my favorite movies to date). I have always been fascinated by such human chameleons and anticipated the start of "The Pretender" with high hopes, and I was not been disappointed (until the last movie). From the beginning I realized that Jarod was very likely a virgin, and felt that he would need someone very special to change that status in his life. I hope I have created an exciting character in Athena Morgan and all her various aliases, and promise that she will reappear in yet another adventure of Jarod's further long the way. I hope you enjoyed my little romp, and would appreciate feedback. 
> 
> Till next time, boys and girls, look a little closer at the new guy or gal on the block. You never know who might be hiding out as a baker in the donut shop, or the surgeon reading your x-rays in the ER...
> 
> Special Musical Note: The song that goes with the love scene at the dance studio near the end is En Vogue's "Don't Let Go." I thought that would be particularly appropriate for this series. Check out the lyrics: "What's it gonna be? 'Cause, I can't pretend..." And then in one of the verses the ladies say something to the effect of: "If I could wear your clothes, I could pretend I was you, and lose control..." Is this perfect, or what?
> 
> And Angela Reyes' song, "In a Glade", can be heard on the album Divine Comedy by Milla Jovovich.


End file.
